


A Warehouse By The Sea

by RhianthiAlritak



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Warehouse 13
Genre: Crossover, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 14:51:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20932034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhianthiAlritak/pseuds/RhianthiAlritak
Summary: "Slowly it hits her, the bookshop feels like the Warehouse because it is itself a warehouse of sorts. And much like the Warehouse, she gets the distinct impression it used to be somewhere else"





	1. The Secret Service and The Antichrist

**Author's Note:**

> So basically what I did here was take the canon timelines and deposit them directly into the garbage. Enjoy!

He’s pretty sure these people don’t live in Tadfield. Occasionally someone new would move in (Anathema), or someone just visiting decides to stay (also Anathema), but Adam is fairly certain that these people intend to stay just long enough to find _ something _ and leave. He rather likes them he thinks, despite not having met them properly. They don’t seem like the type of people to mess others about, more like the type to stop other people from messing people about. Two of them are currently sitting on the sofa across from his parents.

“And you haven’t seen anything odd? Anything at all?” asks the one who introduced herself as Agent Bering. Adam can’t begin to count the number of odd things _ he’s _ seen. But for his parents everything in Tadfield has always been relatively normal. He’s made sure of that.

“Not in Tadfield,” says Mr. Young. He frowns.

Adam steps into the room. “Wot’s the American Secret Service got to do with Tadfield?”

“Adam,” says his mother.

Agent Bering is staring at him. She doesn’t look annoyed. The man beside her, Agent Lattimer, gives her a look. It’s the look for someone who has just realised they’ve found what they’re looking for. 

Except, Adam realises, they’re not looking at him. They’re looking directly at the necklace his uncles gave him for his fifteenth birthday. It’s a singular pendant of deep blue glass, flecked throughout with gold on a long chain. It has a slight glow to it that _ most _ people, including his parents and older sister can’t see. The glow itself comes from two tiny down feathers carefully sealed inside the glass at its creation. 

Agent Bering turns to his mother. “May we speak with your son? Alone?”

His mother tenses as though she’s about to object but Adam steps closer and waves his hand dismissively. “S’fine mum. Besides, if they’re lookin’ for weird then I don’t see why they’re in _Tadfield_.”  
Agent Bering looks mildly annoyed, which he finds satisfying. Agent Lattimer gestures to the necklace. “Mind if we take a look at that, kid?” He pulls a silver bag out of his pocket and opens it.

Adam shrugs and pulls it over his head. “Sure. It’s just a gift from my uncles though.”

“And when did you-” Agent Bering starts.

“Last month. On my birthday. It’s not what you’re looking for.”

“And you know what is?”

Adam shrugs again. “Probably. I know everything there is to know in Tadfield.”

Agent Lattimer drops the pendant into the silver bag anyway. Both agents look away quickly. Nothing happens. Adam holds out his hand expectantly, satisfied when Agent Lattimer retrieves and returns the necklace to him.

“Told you,” he says.

“Is there anything new in town?” Agent Bering asks. “Anything old? Maybe antique?”

Adam thinks for a moment then shrugs. “Maybe Anathema’s got something.” He looks around to make sure his parents are out of earshot then whispers conspiratorially, “She’s the witch what lives in Jasmine Cottage.”

“A witch?”

“Well,” Adam says. “Occultist I guess. Reckon that’s just a fancy word for witch though.” He smiles. “I met her when the world ended.”

Neither agent seems phased by the casual way he says the words, which he takes as a good sign. 

“And when did it do that?” Agent Bering asks, seriously. 

“Four years ago, but it didn’t really end. Only almost. My fault really.”

She exchanges a look with her partner who nods. Adam smiles, the picture of innocence.

“Come on then, I’ll introduce you to Anathema.” He whistles and Dog comes running. “Here boy, let’s go visit the witch.”

They follow him out the door.


	2. The Bookshop

In the South Downs, two humans are breaking into a shop.

“Hello? Anyone home?” Claudia calls. She looks at Steve who shrugs when the only answer they receive is silence. “Guess not.” She steps over the threshold of the entryway and suddenly she  _ feels _ … something. The feeling isn’t unlike that of an artifact or even The Warehouse itself. The little antique bookshop feels, well, alive, in a way that is vaguely discomforting and at the same time feels like home.

There are rows upon rows of shelves on the left side of the shop, each with a hand written sign proclaiming ‘These Volumes Not For Sale’. Against the back wall are glass cases containing volumes that look older than Mrs. Fredrick, including what she’s certain is a Sumerian tablet. To the right are more of what one might expect to see in a contemporary bookshop, noticeably these shelves lack any signs at all.

She hears a door open somewhere in the building. Steve has a hand on his Tesla. For a brief moment the tension in the air is tangible and then--

“Really Angel, you have  _ got _ to get better locks.”

“The alert warding functions just fine, thank you.”

“All I’m saying, is that if you had better locks you wouldn’t need the warding.”

And then there are two people standing in front of them. The tall lanky redhead stops short of putting on his sunglasses, glances at Steve’s hand and lets out a groan.

“Ugh, Warehouse Agents.” His tone is that of a person who knows exactly what and who he’s dealing with, and would rather not be doing that.

Claudia is almost certain she’s seen his face before, in a dossier file she wasn’t meant to see. The name Anthony Crowley flashes briefly in her mind. She looks at the other one and she’s  _ definitely _ seen his face, also in a file she wasn’t meant to see, but unlike the first man’s file, his was covered in warnings. Looking at the two of them, she can’t figure out why. He looks perfectly calm and respectable and harmless, which really, means he is probably none of these things. His name eludes her entirely. He flashes her a smile.

“Ezra Fell,” he says. Steve shakes his head. 

“You’re lying.”

“A little, the man admits. “I was rather hoping we could work things out without having to get into the metaphysics of the whole ordeal.”

Crowley groans. “Had to be Warehouse agents didn’t it. Never something small interrupting our day. Always demons or angels or  _ worse _ , Warehouse agents.”

The friendly-looking man pats his friend on the shoulder. “Now, now, dear. Helena was quite lovely. And as I recall you were rather quite fond of Lisa. And the caretakers have always been relatively accommodating. I wonder how dear Irene is doing.”

“Azzziraphale…” Crowley hisses. “They’re staring.”

“Oh. Oh dear,” the man, Aziraphale murmurs. “Do they not share our files with field agents anymore?”

“No,” Claudia says. “They do not.”

Aziraphale sighs heavily and twists his hands together. “Very well then, come into the back room. There’s a good deal to discuss and I’d rather get it done before the reservation you’re threatening.”

Claudia glances at the leftmost shelves as she follows behind. Slowly it hits her, the bookshop  _ feels _ like the Warehouse because it is itself a warehouse of sorts. And much like the Warehouse, she gets the distinct impression it used to be somewhere else. London. London sounds right. London and not this tiny town by the sea.

Aziraphale offers tea and biscuits and about a dozen other things despite his earlier statement about a reservation. Claudia has the sneaking suspicion that the reservation will wait for the pair, rather than them having to make it.

“Right! So!” Aziraphale says, sitting down across from her. “Claudia Donovan, yes?”

“Yes,” she says, although she isn’t sure why. There’s something calming about the man, something that says ‘don’t you worry, you’re safe here’. She remembers the warnings and shakes her head. “How did you know that?”

“Just a hunch,” he says. “Well, more than a hunch. I knew.” He looks at Steve and smiles. “I do apologise dear boy, unfortunately casual deception is rather required when one works amongst people who, while adaptive, tend not to respond well to learning some of the underlying realities of the world. Do feel free to call me on it, should I slip.”

Crowley is sprawled on the sofa. “Angel’s saying he’s a habitual liar.”

“Crowley!”

“S’true. You’re good at it too.”

“Crowley!”

Steve snickers. “He’s  _ not _ lying.”

Crowley frowns. “S’creepy. Stop it.”

Aziraphale claps his hands together. “Right, back to the matter at hand yes? Do get comfortable agents, this will take rather a while."


End file.
